Daydream
by Clara Barton
Summary: Stuck at yet another tedious awards luncheon, Relena makes the best of a bad situation. Day 10 of 31 Days of Smut For peachandbetty and The Manwell (kind of)
A/N: So this is peachandbunny's request for 1xR with Relena under a table in public and I'm incorporating The Manwell's awesome Person A fantasizing about Person B idea (though I'm tweaking it a little) .

A/N 2: I live for reviews. Even if it's just "loved it" - every review makes my day and inspires me to write more.

A/N 3: A special and enormous thanks to Maevemauvaise who, in addition to exchanging all caps frantic typing with me is taking on the dubious honor of beta reading for me. THANK you so much.

Warnings: smut, language, AU

Pairings: 1xR

 _March 10: Daydream_

Awards banquets were, in Relena's experience, just short of actual torture. Not only were they too long, not only were they conversational minefields, not only were they populated by people just dying to get a moment alone with her and try to orchestrate some diplomatic coup, but they very, very rarely actually gave meaningful awards to people who deserved them.

This ceremony was no different.

The Coalition for the Revitalization of Happy Families. Relena wished, oh how she wished, that she had made up that name or imagined it. But no, it was emblazoned on the banners throughout the banquet hall, on the place cards at each table - it was everywhere. She wasn't even sure what it meant - wasn't sure the _Coalition_ knew what it meant.

There were benefits to being the daughter of the Vice President and the party's presumed nominee for President next year - and Relena had every intention of using those benefits to her advantage when it came time to apply for law school and to get an internship - but there were also obligations. And those obligations, well, they could be deadly dull. Deadly. She wondered if she could fake fainting and get her Secret Service escort to rescue her from this.

Of course, if she did that, her mother would never let her hear the end of it. Her mother, here to present the award for Inspiring Community Activist of the Year, had made Relena skip her morning classes to attend this banquet and languish in the hell that was D.C. politics.

She liked politics - liked the chess game of American democracy - but while she was still a pawn she preferred to stick to the sidelines and not get mired down in bog of middle-ground conservative movements like this one.

The luncheon was only on the first course, and based on the her recent _vast_ experiences with these things, Relena knew they were still at least half an hour to an hour away from the keynote speaker taking the floor.

 _Kill me now_ , she couldn't help but think, as a Senator's wife turned to Relena with a broad smile and asked where she liked to summer.

Relena pasted a smile onto her face and offered the blandest possible answer - her grandmother's home in Maine - but it seemed to enthrall the woman, who wanted to know _all_ about it.

In fact, half of the ten person table seemed to suddenly think summers in Maine were as riveting as discussing potential reconciliation plans between Israel and Palestine. The only person who was actively _ignoring_ Relena was sitting directly across from her.

She didn't know who he was - he had arrived late, offering a kiss on the cheek to the woman seated next to his until then empty chair, a Senator whose name Relena had forgotten. He had spent the entire meal glaring at either his plate or his surroundings. He was the only person in attendance close to Relena's age. The majority of people at the luncheon were middle-aged women, though there were a few men, several older women, and three young children who seemed to be even more upset at being stuck in the room than Relena or the sulky man across from her.

He was handsome, in the kind of breathtaking way that made Relena resent him - he had to know how mesmerizing his deep blue eyes were, how flawless his golden skin was, how strong his cheeks and jawline looked. He knew, and clearly didn't care, if his messy brown hair was anything to go by. He looked like he had just rolled out of bed and ran a careless hand through it.

She hated how easy it was for boys to look amazing - roll out of bed and put on decent clothes and voila! Society deemed you perfect. Girls, on the other hand… Relena was so tired of the hoops she had to jump through. It wasn't enough that Relena had to deal with the constant critiques of her mother - there were reporters always ready to snap photos of her, especially, it seemed, on those days when Relena couldn't be bothered to do more than pull on jeans and a t-shirt and throw her hair up in a messy bun.

Of course, her mother would have _never_ let Relena into the car if she had shown up looking like that today. Instead, Relena had woken up early enough to piss off her roommate as she tried to sleep off the hangover from the keg party the previous night, and, as quietly as possible - yet not quietly enough based on Hilde's groans - Relena had primped and crimped and applied makeup for the first time all week before putting on the seafoam green chiffon dress that her mother's stylist had approved. The dress was pretty, with a slightly blousy top and a full, pleated skirt that felt like heaven against her freshly shaved legs. Of course, Relena had wanted to wear her strappy three-inch tall sandals but the stylist had laughed and shoved a pair of nude flats at Relena that made her feel both like a child _and_ a middle-aged woman at the same time.

At least they were comfortable, Relena told herself. Not that it mattered - with her ass glued to this chair as she made small talk with these women - it wasn't as if Relena would have the chance to walk around and _need_ comfortable shoes.

The conversation was so mind numbing, so dull, that Relena allowed herself to zone out and think about the Statistics test she needed to study for.

She had so successfully distanced herself from the conversation that she wasn't paying attention and reached for her water glass just as her mother made a sweeping gesture. The result was Relena spilling the glass of water on her mother.

In the ensuing chaos, Relena caught her mother's furious glare just as she bent down to pick up the glass before it got crushed by someone's feet. She slid out of her chair to reach it, having to lift up the tablecloth and duck her head under.

She absolutely was not hiding from her mother's glare or the shrill voices of the women who immediately reacted as though something actually tragic had occurred and not just water spilled on a black Chanel suit.

The glass had rolled all the way to the other side of the table - just inches away from the loafer clad feet of the sullen boy.

And of course he made no move to reach for, in fact, judging by the way he was sitting, he was actually _lounging_ \- leaning back in his chair with his khaki clad legs crossed and very, very clearly not bothered at all by the small storm Relena had just unleashed.

She huffed. Of course. How typical.

He would probably just sit there, unmoving, unconcerned, no matter what happened around him.

As she glared at his legs, Relena couldn't help but notice how well the khakis fit around his thighs, how powerful they looked, and how trim his waist was. She could see the gleam of the brass zippered fly and she had a sudden, horribly inappropriate thought.

A blow job would probably make him react - probably make him sit up straight and stop glaring.

His legs were so close, his crossed ankles just inches from her hands...

His khakis were smooth under her fingers, the material soft and expensive, but it was his hard, sculpted legs underneath that she really cared about. The way he jumped when he first felt her touch, the way his muscles knotted together.

But he didn't move, didn't pull away as her fingers. He did, very slowly, uncross his legs and it seemed like an invitation to her, as if he were beckoning her to continue her exploration.

Relena smoothed her hands up his calves and over his knees, circling the undersides and digging her nails into his thighs as she continued her upwards progress.

He shifted then, finally, finally showing a reaction to her touch at last.

She moved closer and knelt between his spread legs as she rubbed her palms over his hard thighs, inching closer and closer to his groin until at least _he_ shifted forward on his chair, insistently pushing against her.

Relena smirked and pulled away, teased him by dragging her fingers back down his thighs and away before circling back up and repeating the process.

She was willing to bet he was still glaring, but probably not because of the inanity of the awards luncheon anymore.

She continued to torture and tease him until she saw the bulge against his inseam, until his cock had hardened enough to become quite noticeable and she felt her mouth water in anticipation.

Relena eased her hands back up and touched him through the khakis, light at first, but when he bucked against her she increased her pressure and cupped him through the fabric.

He felt large and thick and she suddenly, desperately, wanted that cock between her lips.

She unfastened his khakis and eased the zipper down slowly. He helpfully wiggled his hips, allowing her to pull the khakis down far enough to pull out his cock - because of course he hadn't bothered with underwear. Why would he? When he clearly cared so little for anything. He had probably just rolled out of bed and pulled these khakis onto his hard, perfectly chiseled naked body.

His cock was thick and long with a wide, blunt head. Relena shifted and she could feel her own arousal, could feel her damp panties cling to her thighs and it made her pulse race.

She wrapped her hand around his cock, her small, pale fingers unable to touch around the impressive girth.

Relena gave a few, experimental tugs, moving the loose foreskin up and down, revealing the head and then hiding it over and over until he shifted again, thrusting up into her hand and Relena had to smirk.

Demanding, wasn't he?

She honestly wasn't surprised by that. Of course he was. Demanding and probably used to getting everything his way, too.

It irked her, that thought, especially since here she was - kneeling between his legs, leaning closer and closer so that she could give into those demands - but her desire to erase his sullen demeanor overrode her irritation.

She pulled his foreskin back and licked at the head, swirling her tongue around and then across the tip to taste the bead of precum there.

He smelled clean, smelled like the woods and she inhaled deeply. Such a nice change from her ex - who, Relena was convinced, had owned stock in Axe because he was _doused_ in it at all times.

She opened her mouth and placed her lips around the wide head, feeling the silky skin force her mouth open as far as it could go. She wondered if her lipstick would stain his cock - wondered if she was able to deepthroat him and possibly smear it on his khakis. Certainly a worthy goal.

Slowly, she eased his cock in.

He filled her mouth easily, quickly, and she felt the head of his huge cock nudge against the back of her throat.

She had to adjust her head and tilt it so that she didn't choke and as soon as he did he gave a shallow thrust with his hips.

Relena immediately put her hands on his thighs and held him in place. There was absolutely _no_ way she was okay with that happening.

If she did this, _she_ was controlling everything about it - including the pace and how much of his cock she took in her mouth.

She pulled away, his wet cock slipping from her lips with a far too loud sucking sound and she waited, waited until he shifted and reached down with his own fingers and twined them with hers. She would accept that as an apology and an agreement.

She squeezed his strong fingers between her own and then took his cock back in her mouth, slowly easing the thick length in and then sucking on it while she ran her tongue around the underside.

He shifted his thighs and his hands moved from hers to her hair until she shook her head - she wasn't going to walk around with sex hair after this.

He returned his hands to hers and she squeezed his fingers and laced them together to hold him in place.

She kept her pace slow, teasing him, tormenting him. She could feel his thighs moving under her hands, could _feel_ him wanting to move, wanting to thrust into her mouth but she held him in place and continued to do it her way. In this, if nothing else, she would get what she wanted.

She bobbed her head up and down his length, tongue and teeth scraping against him and she loved the way he tasted, loved the heavy weight of him in her mouth, the slightly bitter taste of his pre-cum.

His fingers curled into hers in a spasm that echoed a sharp, sudden intake of breath on his part. He was close - he had to be judging by the way he shifted again and the way his nails cut into her skin as he flexed his fingers once, twice and then he broke free of her grip and pushed her head away.

It was considerate of him, Relena thought, as she fell backwards onto her ass and watched him cum, watched semen shoot from his cock in heavy spurts that stained his khakis.

That had her smirking, as she watched him hold his cock in one hand and slip a napkin under the table with his other hand and try to wipe at them.

"Relena?"

She shook herself from the dream, from the fantasy of blowing the strange, sulking boy and crawled out from under the table, her face red and her panties soaked.

Her mother stood there looking down at her.

"Sorry, I was getting the glass," Relena said and held it up.

Her mother's lips compressed into a tight, dissatisfied line that Relena had seen all too often. She got back into her chair and put the empty glass on the table and her mother, still dabbing ineffectual at her Chanel suit, also sat back down.

Relena drew in a deep breath, forced herself to think appropriately Happy Family thoughts, and pushed the fantasy of the under-the-table blow job out of her mind.

Of course, that worked for all of two seconds - until she looked across the table and saw the boy looking at her, his blue eyes impossible to read, a smirk on his full lips.

It was almost as if he knew exactly what she had been thinking.

"I need to get some air," Relena said and stood in a rush.

"Me too," the boy announced and put down his napkin.

As he followed her out of the room, Relena couldn't help but wonder just what was about to happen.

-o-

Endnote: Hey! If you're enjoying the 31 Days of Smut, or just my writing in general, check out the ebook I published on Amazon it's cheap (or free if you have Kindle Unlimited) and super smutty. It's Ponyboy by C. Barton.


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